by Frost, E J
“I am, but that’s not my brand of sadism. I’m a physical sadist, which is why we mesh so well.” He takes my hand, holds it up by my face, and laces his fingers through mine. “I get absolutely nothing out of hurting you emotionally. I know you might not believe that because of what I did in L.A., but I promise you, I’m not an emotional vampire.”
“That’s why it didn’t work out with your subbie Luisa, right?” I ask, needing a little more reassurance, because it did feel like he was getting off on hurting me emotionally in L.A., and while I totally understand that he was working through some seriously bad feelings, and I can’t imagine he has too many more secrets like that, I don’t think I could cope if he needed to hurt me like that routinely.
“That’s right. She needed humiliation. I don’t. It doesn’t bother me that humiliation is a hard limit for you.” He turns our linked hands so he can kiss my knuckles. “What’s more important, Emmy, the destination or the journey?”
“Like in life? The journey.”
“That’s right. In Thailand, I was taught to focus on the journey during scenes rather than the endpoint. That’s what I’m doing with you today. I want you to enjoy the edging without thinking about the destination. Taking the emphasis off our orgasms allows us to spend the day connecting.” He nips my knuckles. “I didn’t come this morning, either, and I don’t intend to until your orgasm restriction has ended. I don’t put you through things I’m unwilling to endure myself.”
I melt. Not into a puddle of happy but into a puddle of adoration. I didn’t notice that he didn’t come during the edging. I was so focused on the orgasm denial, I forgot about his pleasure.
“I was a really, really bad subbie this morning. I’m so, so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay, little love. I’m not disappointed in you. I’m challenging your ideas about what’s important in a scene. I expect it to take a little while for your mind to reset. Can you stick with it for another session?”
“Yes, Daddy. And tonight’s. I want to, for you.”
“That’s my good girl. Proud of you, sweetie.” He releases my hand, loops his arm back over my shoulders and leads me down the hall towards our rooms.
“Do you think Shaan lost sight of his submission? Is that why he’s so angry?” I ask as we walk.
“Possibly. But even in the right headspace, not every scene works for every bottom. There may have been something about the scene that resonated wrong with Shaan and hurt him. Niall needs to find out.”
I tuck my head into his shoulder. “Was what he wrote really bad?”
“Yes.” Daddy sighs. “I’d be destroyed if you wrote anything like that to me. It’s never my intention to make you feel demeaned, unappreciated, or unloved. Your submission is precious to me, and I’m sure Shaan’s is to Niall. Niall’s holding it together pretty well, but he must have been hurt by the things Shaan wrote.”
“Doms have feelings, too?” I screw my face up dubiously.
“You cheeky monkey.” He pauses to open the door to my room. “Let me go in first, just to be safe.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” I wait at the door until he beckons me in. Nothing looks disturbed. The light through the balcony doors is the color of a bruise and I wonder what it’s going to feel like when the storm finally hits. Good thing this is a big ship.
He unlocks the connecting door, checks his suite, and leads me through to his bathroom. Between kisses, he undresses both of us and turns on the shower. “Quick wash, baby doll. We just don’t want to stink up the captain’s lunch.”
That sets me off giggling. Logan carries the playful tone through our shower, tickling me under the spray, swatting my wet bottom when I don’t get out fast enough for him. He dries me off with a fluffy towel and does the lotion ritual, which leaves my skin pink and glowing. Even though I don’t have any bad spots, he rubs cream all over my back and bottom, and Vitamin E on my labia. By the time he’s done, I feel tingly and loved-up, with barely any soreness anywhere.
“You said the edging would help me heal fast, Daddy, but I didn’t think it would be this fast.”
He slides his hand up and down my back. “The edging increases your circulation, which is what helps you heal, but I think if we tried penetration right now, you’d find you’re still very sore. Your back looks great, though. Just a couple of welts. No broken skin. You mark beautifully, Emmy.”
I feel beautiful when I’m marked, a thought that makes him smile when I share it with him.
“I enjoy knowing you wear my marks under these sweet dresses,” he says as he slips the adorable, dotted-pink dress I wore to breakfast back over my head. “I love knowing that you’re bare under them, naughty and naked and waiting for my touch.” He slips his hands under the hem and tickles up the backs of my legs until he cups my bottom. “Little girl, you are such a temptation. It’s too cold on this bloody ship but when we get home, you’re going to run around naked all the time. Neighbors be damned.”
The tickling and his worlds make me giggle wildly. His neighborhood on East Second Street looked more artsy than snobby, but I still can’t imagine his neighbors coping well with a nudist in their midst.
And the thought that I’ll be staying with Logan all summer—naked or not—makes my insides glow brighter than my outsides.
I pull on my stripy thigh highs while he dresses. He doesn’t shave and has quite a five o’clock shadow, even though it’s only been about eighteen hours since his last shave. He looks super-wolfy, and I tell him so as we walk hand-in-hand down to the Pinctada restaurant.
“Mmm, speaking of which, I’ve been thinking about our next public scene, little girl. We’re going to wait until after our shore day in Mazatlán, but then we’re going to act out that Red Riding Hood fantasy of yours.”
I nod enthusiastically.
“Since everyone enjoyed the chase and capture part of the Princess Amber scene, I was thinking we’d do something similar. Like the Doms will start off as hunters, hunting the Big Bad Wolf. But the hunters are actually werewolves in disguise. They wolf-out and return to the village to capture and torment the poor village submissives.”
“Ooo, good twist, Daddy.”
“Like that?”
“So much.” The idea is making my thighs sticky.
“For our last public scene, we’re going to do the Viking raid. I want another chance to flog you, little girl.”
My eyes roll back, and I nearly stumble. Daddy wraps his arm around my shoulders before I fall, holding me steady.
“I think you like that idea,” he says.
His growly tone sends delicious shivers through me.
“Itty-bitty bit,” I admit. “But Master Niall might figure out it’s about him.”
Logan chuckles. “Do you think that would bother him? I’m pretty sure he’d love knowing he inspired the scene. If you’re worried it will embarrass him, I’ll mention it to him beforehand.”
“Yes, please, Daddy. Otherwise, I’d love to do those scenes.”
“Good girl. We’ll do some other private scenes, but those will be the big public ones.”
I look up at him, feeling again that swell of adoration. “Thank you for using my fantasies. Ta very much. It means a lot to me.”
He stops me just before the doors of the restaurant to kiss the tip of my nose and smile down at me. “My pleasure, little girl. Your fantasies are huge turn-ons for me. I have plenty of ideas of my own for scenes, but while we’re still getting to know each other, I want to act out your fantasies.”
We’re not late, but there are already a lot of people in the raised, railed-in area where the captain’s table sits. I don’t recognize any of them. My excitement fades into trepidation.
Then the cigar-smoking chief appears, dignified in his white dress uniform. He shakes Logan’s hand and, after checking it’s okay, opens his arms to me and gives me a hug that turns his dignity warm and friendly.
“How are you two enjoying the cruise?” he asks.
Since I�
�m absolutely loving it at this moment, I give him a big smile.
Daddy takes me back from Chief Licence, tucks me into his side, and whispers, “Wrists.”
I cross my wrists behind my back obediently. Daddy strokes the soft spot on the inside of my wrist with his thumb. Their deep voices wash over me as I drift down into a peaceful place.
* * *
Logan brings me back up for the meal. Although everything tastes better from my daddy’s fingers, even without him handfeeding me, the blackened chili-chocolate soup and tequila shrimp are wonderful. All while we eat, Daddy gives me little touches: swirling his fingertips over my thigh under the table, stroking my arm, and sliding his palm over my hair. I feel saturated with his affection; it helps me withstand the small talk. There’s no one like Teresa to give me lessons in spin-states, but Chief Licence and Daddy trade stories about storms at sea. Most of their stories involve puking, which keeps the mood light.
After lunch, Logan leads me out to the deck to watch the coming storm. The sea and sky churn all the way from the boat to the horizon: deep gray above, eerie, jade green below. There’s a black band where sea and sky meet, seared white every few seconds by flashes of lightning. It’s dramatic, much more dramatic than storms over Lake Onondaga. Everything in Mexico seems amped up: the heat, the vegetation, the light, the colors. Syracuse is washed out in comparison, but I’m not sure I could handle this intensity all the time.
Chief Licence joins us and we all turn our faces into the cool, salty spray. It’s not raining yet, but the waves are high enough to splash the deck.
“Stay away from the pools today,” the chief warns us. “Two words: projectile vomit.”
“Seriously?” Logan asks.
“Anytime we get a big storm. I have no idea why people think swimming when the boat’s bouncing around like a rubber ball is a good idea, but they do. Never fails.”
“That must delight the cleaning staff,” Logan says.
“Days like this, they have the worst job in the world. Storm’s supposed to break around midnight. They’ll be at it until dawn.”
“Miserable.”
“And they’re not going to get much of a break. We’ve got another front coming in the day after tomorrow. Hope you brought your umbrellas for Mazatlán.”
I look up at Logan. I didn’t bring an umbrella. I thought Mexico was hot and sunny.
He grins. “Yes, beanie, I brought a brollie. As long as you’re a good girl, you can share it. If you get bratty, it’s sightseeing in the rain for you.”
I stick out my tongue.
“Cheeky monkey.” He pinches my lower lip between his finger and thumb. “I think it’s time for your next edging. Say goodbye to the chief.”
“Goodbye, Chief Licence.” I dip him a little curtsey, abbreviated by Logan’s hold on my lip.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, Emily. Keep those sea-bands on. You can sleep in them, too. Perfectly safe.”
I smile as much as I can before Logan leads me away. He walks me all the way back to my room, still holding my lip, his other arm around my waist to keep from pulling too hard. His hold hurts but also sends white-hot tingles through me.
Inside my room, he walks me around with him as he checks under the furniture, in the cupboards, and behind the curtains. He ends up by the bed, where he releases me.
“Strip. Leave your stockings and sea-bands on.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Without waiting to see if I’ve obeyed, he unlocks the connecting door and disappears into his room. When he returns, I’ve got my pretty dress off and folded neatly on my dresser. Because I really want to start this scene off right, I’m in a submissive position: kneeling on the floor, forehead to the carpet, with my arms stretched in front of me.
“Good girl,” he says but doesn’t tell me to rise. He moves around the bed, and I hear him setting down something that clinks like glass. There’s a rustle of cloth before he returns to stand beside me. He goes down on one knee and sets his hand on the back of my head, warm and controlling. “I didn’t tell you to go into High Protocol, little love, but I like this very much, so we’ll go with it. Tell me what High Protocol means. You may elaborate until I tell you to stop.”
“Clothes off. I’m below you, wherever you are. If you’re standing or sitting, I’m kneeling; if you’re on the floor, I’m prone, face down. I’m not allowed on any furniture until you give me permission. I don’t rise or leave your presence until given permission. I don’t speak unless you ask me a direct question. I answer questions yes or no, with an honorific, unless you tell me to elaborate, Daddy.”
“Very good, Emmy. Are you remembering that from our contract or is that how Matthew trained you?”
It was actually Lew who introduced me to High Protocol. Everyone has their own version, though, so I was quoting from his contract as much as I could remember. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything. “The contract, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Remember to keep your eyes down. Don’t look at me or anyone else unless I tell you to.”
I want to apologize, but he hasn’t asked me a question.
“As it happens, I’m going to release you from that restriction for now. I’d prefer eye contact for this scene. In general, when we’re in High Protocol, eyes down.”
I nod, rubbing my nose across the carpet, so he knows I’m listening.
“Good, very good, Emmy. Have you done protocol play before?”
“Lew and Matthew did it with me but no one since. It’s been a few years. I might be a little rusty, Daddy.”
He chuckles and smooths his hand over my head. “You’ll do fine, sweetie. But if it’s going to make you anxious, just for today, we’ll do three strikes before I give you a physical correction. I’ll give you a verbal warning the first and second time, so you know to watch yourself. This is still a reward day for you, so I don’t want you to obsess about breaking protocol, okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Last thing. If you need to get my attention for some reason, you can either raise your hand with three fingers up and your thumb and pinkie down, or you can tap me three times wherever you can reach. I don’t intend to restrain you for this scene but I may for the later one and, if I do, you can speak in order to say yellow or red without permission. Clear, baby doll?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Such a good girl. When I let go, I want you to rise, climb up on the bed, kneel on the towel, and get into the same position you’re in now, with your bottom facing me and your body on the towel. If you do the Gorean slave thing, it’s the submit position. Do you know the slave positions? You may elaborate.”
“No, Daddy. I’ve read the early Gor books. I think I remember a couple of positions, like this one and the present or inspection position, but I’ve never learned them properly.”
Logan chuckles. “Why does it not surprise me that you’ve read the books? You don’t need to answer that. I haven’t read any of them, but I’ll add them to my list for when we get back home. We can read a couple of the books together and we’ll act out a few of the scenes while you learn the slave positions. Rise now, little girl. You have permission to get up on the bed.”
I wait until he takes his hand away, immediately missing his warmth in the chilly room. I make eye contact with him—his eyes are dark and hot already—so he knows I paid attention to that part of his instruction, before I climb as gracefully as I can onto the bed. I’m careful to center myself on the towel as I kneel, bend over to press my chest to the bed, and stretch my arms in front of me. I remember something about the Gorean slave girl crossing her wrists. I think that touch might please Logan, and I want more than anything to please him.
He runs his palm up my spine and I shiver with pleasure. “Excellent, sweet baby. You’re so wet I can see it on your thighs. What’s exciting you? You can elaborate.”
“Everything, Daddy. The way you walked me up from the restaurant holding my lip. Being naked while you’re still dressed. Th
is position. It’s making me tingly everywhere.”
“Good answer, little girl.” He sits next to me on the bed, keeping one hand on the small of my back. I hear him picking things up, a scrape of metal, the swish of something wet. “Turn your head and look at what I’m holding.”
I turn my head, peering over the curve of my arm. He’s sitting on the bed, cross-legged, facing me, his right hand resting on my bottom, his left hand holding a big clump of ginger root and a peeling knife.
I glance up and meet his wolfy eyes and give a tiny nod so he knows I’ve seen the ginger.
“Do you know what figging is?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“What is it? You may elaborate.”
I swallow hard, because I’ve never done figging. I’ve read about it, though, and the idea of a piece of ginger up my butt sounds not at all rewarding. I remind myself to keep an open mind.
“It’s a Victorian thing. They put a piece of peeled ginger in your bottom before a caning. It burns, more and more as you clench your bottom against the bite of the cane.”
He grins at me. “I should have known you’d know the history.”
He takes his hand off my backside and holds the clump of ginger in his right hand while he carves one of the bigger fingers off the root, taking a big chunk of the main root with it. Dimly, I register that he’s left-handed, which I’m not sure I’d realized before, since I’ve seen him use a fork and chopsticks with either hand. But most of my attention is focused on the ginger he’s now peeling. Did I really just want more than anything to please him for the next forty-five minutes? Now the thing that seems the most important is surviving the next forty-five minutes with a big chunk of ginger up my butt.
“Mmm, such an anxious face, little girl. Are you nervous or scared? You may elaborate.”
“I think more nervous, Daddy, but maybe a little bit scared.”
“Tell me why.”
“I haven’t done anything with ginger before but, just from cooking with it, it seems like it’s going to burn the ever-loving, uh, heck out of my poor bottom.”
